


This Is The Day

by fuckedupasusual



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol, Anonymous Sex, Dennis Reynolds POV, Depression, Eating Disorders, Gay Dennis Reynolds, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other, Post-Episode: s12e10 Dennis' Double Life, the author did a lot of projecting, what happened in north dakota
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckedupasusual/pseuds/fuckedupasusual
Summary: You ever wondered what happened with Dennis directly after leaving the bar in DDL and what that phone number was he supposedly gave Mac at some point? Yeah, me too... This fic centers around the time period that Dennis spent in ND, what he might have been up to but more importantly: What went on inside his head (that might have had him come back).
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> *Stefon voice* this fic has everything: anonymous sex, implied drug use and alcoholism, depression and eating disorders.  
> ((Please read the tags))  
> The title is inspired by the song of the same name by The The. I highly recommend listening to it. It itspired me to write this. I worked on this on and off for 6 months. A lot of my own emotions went into this, so this fic is very close to my heart.  
> I hope you enjoy it <3

The driver doesn’t do small talk, thank fuck. Dennis keeps switching between chewing on his fingernails and banging his knuckles against the window until he’s pissed himself off enough to continue the rest of the drive sitting on his hands.

It’s raining when they arrive. Dennis hands the driver the money, he hands him his bag. Dennis wishes all exchanges could be as wordless and simple as that.  
He stupidly stands outside the airport entrance and slowly realises that - this is it. Goodbye Philly, indeed. He is doing this. Yes, he will be a good father to his son, he can do this - it is what he tries to tell himself over and over again while taking fast and hard drags from a cigarette that he got from the dude next to him. He still has over an hour to kill and this is killing him. The flight distance is 3 hours. He should get a drink or two, or three, or- no, no can do. Being a better person, being a responsible father starts NOW. The end of the cigarette burns his fingers and he throws it into the trash.


	2. Chapter 2

He's left Philly under the illusion that he could turn his life into something it had never been before. He is Dennis Reynolds, he can do anything if he puts his mind to it, right?  
Thing is, it doesn't work this way. He's known it leaving the bar and all the way back to the apartment (by foot). He's felt it in every movement packing his bag...  
He definitely knows it the moment he steps onto the plane and everything inside his head screams to turn around while there is still a chance. But his pride gets the better of him, usually does, and he sits down on his window seat. He is fighting a war against himself and deep down he knows how ridiculous it is. And yet, he can't help himself. Story of his life. So, here he comes: Brand new North Dakota Dennis Reynolds. He watches the lights as they take off and ascend higher and higher...

* * *

Now, here he is, telling everybody that he's settled in nicely. He tells it to himself, first and foremost. And no, it doesn't bother him that he has to work a dull minimum wage job. And no, of course it doesn't bother him that he makes barely enough to afford his shitty rented one bedroom apartment. What do you mean, it's a nasty neighbourhood, haha (it is, but at least there is a stray cat roaming the area, so that's nice). What? If he misses his friends and old home? Nahh, that's just not him. He should've done this a long time ago, he tells Mandy sincerely.  
You always think you have time. To do all the things on your bucket list, to become the person you have always imagined yourself to be. You always think you still have time to work on these self assigned projects. Until one day, you find yourself lying awake at night at 3:30am and realise: Time is running out. You are in your third act and life doesn’t wait for you. And you’ve spent your last 10 years not doing any of these things. They aren't even a work in progress. And now, you start thinking: It's too late. No use starting anything new now, anyway. It would've been easier years ago before you've become so bitter but the train has left the station. You give yourself over to the intrusive thoughts that tell you giving up is better than trying. Now, it's such hard work to move anything in the right direction. It's not that you don't have the tools or don't know how to use them, no that’s not it. It's just become such an inconvenience, such hard labour and you're not even sure if it's worth it or what it's for. It's much more comfortable to just wither away. You know that things such as purpose or contentment are achieved through action. But you're so exhausted all the time from simply having to stay alive, you just don't know where to take the energy from.  
Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night and suddenly realise it's been so long since you've felt truly happy, even for a moment. True happiness… the closest thing you've got is "any other feeling that isn't sadness or desperation". Or manic excitement. But that emotion is like fireworks. Loud and bright and over in a second and what stays is the night.  
Sometimes, it's just a phase and it goes away and then your head won't be so loud and everything will be more tolerable. But it's been a long time, this time. And maybe that's just how it is from now on. And maybe that's what happens when you have spent your whole life avoiding your problems or working on yourself. Because you've been too stubborn and proud and tried to make yourself and everyone around you believe that it would sort itself out and eventually... go away. Of course you (and everyone else) secretly have always known that it's bullshit. That's not how life works...


	3. Interlude

He is bent over his kitchen table, or rather bent over the box smelling (reeking) of fresh pizza with a 'funny' Italian logo on it. He looks at it like it's an artefact you might learn about in a National Geographic documentary. He feels ridiculous - after all, he was the one who ordered the thing 40 minutes ago. Which now seems like a lifetime ago. He simply has to open the carton and take out one of the already cut slices. He can't bring himself to do it, suddenly not feeling the least bit hungry or even mildly interested in ingesting food of any kind. Instead, he lets his mind wander, wander way back to college days. Not a particularly happy time in Dennis' life as it was missing a very important detail: Mac.

Through complicated convoluted hidden messages, he had made it known to Mac that he'd wanted him to come visit and that - of course - he would pay for the bus or train or taxi or whatever the fuck it would take to haul his ass over to UPenn.

The first night of Mac's short stay, they had ordered pizza because apparently, that was what normal college aged boys did. Up until that point, Dennis' college diet had mainly consisted of salads sans dressing and fat free yoghurts. And hard liquor every other night (as source of carbs, he had joked to himself in those moments when calorie counting was pushed aside in favour of much needed oblivion).

Dennis had tried his best not to let it shine through how much the pizza on his dorm bed freaked him out because that was simply too bizarre and embarrassing.

Mac had pushed the box towards him, mumbling through a mouthful of cheese and dough and tomato sauce, "take a slice, dude. You look like a ghost. College food that bad?"  
Dennis had gulped and picked up a slice, trying to ignore the remains of fat seeping through the carton, creating a sort of fat-rorschach.

He had taken a bite and chewed it and chewed it and chewed it until he noticed Mac's raised eyebrows. He had forced it down his throat and made a thumbs up to reassure Mac that yep, that sure was some enjoyable food. He'd taken another bite and this one, he'd guzzled down without bothering to chew at all. Then he’d put down the half eaten slice and downed half a bottle of coke (diet), ignoring the noise his stomach made (as if it had been surprised by suddenly being offered such a dense meal).

Dennis had slid down next to Mac on his bed, suddenly feeling very tired. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in ages (hence the constant drinking to at least knock out his system every couple of days. He had yet to find out that it's a losing battle). He had been kept awake by either his mania forcing him to dedicate his everything to studying or his hunger. Often both. At some point during his first year (after too much coffee and too little nutrients), his heart had started to make funny jumps which had freaked him out at first but eventually gotten used to.

Mac had kept eating, shooting him concerned glances every now and then. After a while, he'd put the box away and stretched his arms over his head.

"Mac, I'm tired. Is it alright if I nap for a bit, man?"

"Oh yeah, sure. I could go for a nap..."

It might have been the exhaustion or the sudden wave of longing for something Dennis couldn't put his finger on back then, but without thinking, he'd put his head on Mac's chest right where his heart was and listened to the heartbeat.

"I can hear your heart," he had said dully.

Mac, being a little overwhelmed by the whole situation just said "yeah?"

"Yeah… it beats so steady and strong," and with that, Dennis was gone, asleep at last.

(What he didn't know - neither then nor now - was that Mac's last thoughts before his own slumber had been "and I can hear your stomach grumbling…")

Dennis comes to. The hint of appetite he's had roughly an hour ago is replaced by a wave of nausea. He throws the unopened box into the bin and lights a cigarette.


	4. Chapter 4

Mandy makes him go see a therapist basically the moment he sets foot in North Dakota. After some sessions, Dennis estimates he either still hasn't figured out shit or has it all figured out already.

He takes up running again… He goes for many runs these days. Both, literally and figuratively. He runs until his legs are numb and his lungs and brain are empty. He runs on zero energy. He runs from a lot of things: lost youth, lost opportunities, lost moments, lost touches, lost hope...

On days like today, everything gets under his skin and he has to take deep breaths and close his eyes and make fists in a desperate attempt not to lose it. He fails more often than he cares to admit to his therapist but he is just so tired of the “we can't always choose our emotions and they sometimes change when we don't want them to” spiel.

Things blow up with Mandy, as they tend to.

* * *

"Do you actually WANT to be sick?!"

"I'm not SICK, you idiot"

Of course not. Dennis Reynolds doesn't get sick. His therapist would probably disagree and spit some bullshit about delusion of grandeur. And that what he really wants is to know that somebody cares for him. Care deeply enough to carry him through all the tidal waves. And that unfortunately, nobody has ever taught him the right tools to express, well, exactly that. And that lashing out is his way of reaching out, because rage and anger are easy emotions, resorting to primal ways of communication where you just yell and hope somebody understands what you're yelling for. Babies do it. They don't know any other way to voice their emotions. They cry out loud, so somebody can help them out of their misery. Whether it is hunger or pain or fear or irritation or boredom - yadda yadda yadda. Straight up bullshit. He is not a baby. (They have been through this in some session or the other. In fact, it is a reoccurring topic...)

"Then would you care to explain to me what is going on with you?"

"What do you know? No, I'm wondering. Seriously, what THE FUCK do you know? You know nothing. So you can shut up. I've never needed anybody's input on or in my life. Just… leave it. God, I can't stand the sight of another face right now."

He hears his son crying and is hit by a distant memory of his parents fighting and the memory of feeling scared barrels through him like a steam engine. He physically shakes himself free from the pictures of his past and turns on his heels.

"I'll pick him up from daycare tomorrow."

He gets a text that he doesn't need to bother (Mandy will ask one of the other moms to pick him up and drop him off). He drives to a bar straight after that. It's only 2pm. He's been going to therapy for 6 weeks now and he can already hear his therapist's voice in his head:

"Do you think this is adequate reaction to this situation?"

"Fuck yes," he says out loud. If the barkeeper hears him, he has the decency to ignore it and serve him his drink as ordered.

A shot and a beer on an empty stomach later, he can feel his mind calm down.

"Rough day, huh?"

Dennis looks to his left and sees a rather handsome man his age lift up his beer to a silent salute.

"They're all rough," Dennis responds and gets a smile in return. He grins.

"Name's John"

Dennis tells him his name and accepts the invitation to "another one of whatever you're having".

They move to a booth and Dennis can see his therapist frowning at that. He doesn't find it in him to care but finds himself suddenly feeling very horny.

The two of them talk and drink and things go smoothly. They agree to take matters "somewhere else". John leads him outside, hand on his shoulder- definitely sexual, Dennis' mind registers.

They step outside and

And Dennis thinks he sees Mac with a boyfriend on the other side of the road and almost walks into the oncoming traffic.

"Whoa, whoa. Where do you think you're going, roadkill?"

Dennis feels sick and empties his stomach right then and there.

Later at home, he tries to rewrite his memory. He tries to convince his brain that John had been so disgusted and turned off that he'd left him right on the spot when in truth, he'd tried very hard to stop him from getting into his shitty car and drive away.

He gives up and ends up watching professional boxing for whatever reason. He gets a boner and isn't sure if it's a rage boner or a sweaty man on man action boner. He doesn't care (he does). He doesn't care so much that he switches off the TV and takes a cold shower.

He misses being intimate with someone without being afraid that it could mean something, without knowing that it probably does. (He misses Mac).

* * *

So, on nights where he jolts awake after a rather vivid dream of Mac or after lying awake at unholy hours, scrolling through old messages and finding himself reminiscing too much for his own liking, he gets up and out of bed, grabs his jacket and heads out. He takes the night bus or calls for an Uber (always surprised there are drivers in this rural part of the world) and gets to the part of town that has the closest thing to a nightlife one can get around here.

By now, he has memorised the bars where he can be sure to find what he is looking for. He knows where to look and who to ask and how to act.

At 2am, there isn't much going on anymore on the streets and he tries not to act too suspiciously. He doesn't want to draw the wrong kind of attention. He usually stops by a 24h shop to buy a pack of cigarettes and a small bottle of vodka (the ones you can fit in the pocket of your jacket) which he empties as soon as he leaves the shop, smoking a cig and then another.

Some nights, he isn't lucky at first try, so works up a good nerve (buzz) in case he is in for a long haul that night (as a precaution).

Tonight looks promising, though. It's a Tuesday night and the first bar he enters is still quite packed. The first depression of the new week is seeping through the atmosphere. Only few women are sitting alone at the bar, trying to get the bartender to flirt with them. Dennis looks around and finds that tonight's crowd is a good mix of young and middle aged men, equally exhausted by the boredom of rural small town life. Some old recording of a football match is playing on the TV up the wall.

Dennis goes up to the bartender and orders a beer (anything but Coors Light) and a shot of whatever ("surprise me"). If he recognises him from one of the several times before, he doesn't give anything away and Dennis appreciates the pretend anonymity. He downs his shot, orders another and that goes down as well. He's starting to feel the buzz required for what he's about to do.

He still doesn't feel the confidence but fake it till you make it and fake confidence will do just fine, always has.

He goes up to the back of the bar where the room takes a sharp left and leads to the bathrooms - and also the back exit and an alley.

People (men) look him up and down, considering and he does the same, trying to figure out what he needs tonight. It depends on where is ego is at the given night. If he is feeling especially vain, he looks for the young (who in return look for a father figure to live out or fuck away their own issues, he guesses but he tries not to overthink it). The young ones are up for anything and usually carry uppers and downers but a quick blowjob in the alley will also do. And sometimes, that's what Dennis needs to feel appreciated and valued even if it only lasts for a night (sometimes it lasts for more than one if the boy is pretty enough).

But on nights like tonight, he is trying to forget. Forget Mac, forget his feelings for him, ideally forget that he's feeling altogether. These nights are rough and he is hellbent on making them rougher, fighting fire with fire.

Dennis approaches a burly beefcake his age in a lumber jacket. If his instincts don't fail him, he will get lucky on first try. It always goes the same way: walk up, bat your eyes (maybe bump shoulders), ask for the nearest bus stop (code for: let's get out of here and fuck at your place).

He is lucky - hook, line and sinker. Under the pretence of "yeah sure, let me grab my jacket, I'll show you the way", they leave the bar.

Thankfully, the guy (Dennis never bothers to ask for their names and they seldom ask for his) lives just around the block. These walks otherwise have a tendency to turn into a total mood kill.

They walk through the door and fair enough, it's a nice place. It's warm and tidy. Dennis has seen some real shitholes since he's been doing this act. There is never much talking. Usually, Dennis is crawling out of his skin by now and when he's feeling particularly morbid, he likes to push them into taking some action.

He doesn't have to tonight. He is in the middle of taking off his (too light) jacket when he's shoved against the door and gets the breath knocked out of him. The guy’s hands are on his hip and his throat. This is gonna be fun. Their faces are close to each other.

"So you're the one who likes to get roughed up from time to time?"

Dennis says nothing, he just stares into his eyes and hopes this will convey everything that needs to be said, hopes he won't be made to say it out loud. He isn't. The guy kisses him. Hard. His beard scratches Dennis in all the wrong ways and by God, he likes it (tells himself he likes it). The hand on his throat presses down a little harder and he feels a leg being pressed up against his groin. He can feel a hard-on that isn't his own. God, he needs to start getting into this soon, otherwise this will be a waste of time and dignity for him. He tries real hard not to think about thow the lumberjack's build reminds him of Mac's.

The guy seems fully intend on doing this up against the door (probably married, doesn't want to get the sheets dirty) and Dennis tries to memorise the exact position of the door handle because he doesn't need to collect more memorabilia of this night than necessary.

He gets his jacket ripped off of him and he has a fleeting thought of kicking it to the side, so none of them will step on it but then decides he doesn't give a fuck when a hand begins to work on the button of his jeans. He pushes it away to take that matter into his own hands, literally. In truth, he wants to get down to business quickly because he isn't sure how much longer he can convince himself he actually enjoys the tongue down his throat and also he doesn't want to have to explain the impending beard rash on his face (or rather: be reminded of this night every time he looks into a mirror for the next couple of days).

His pants are being shoved down and rough hands turn his body around. He leans his forehead against the door and tries to steel himself for what's about to come. He listens to a belt buckle being opened, listens to heavy breathing and thank fuck he also listens to a condom being ripped open and the clicking of a bottle of lube. Other than that, the guy doesn't waste any time. It's quick and rough and at some point, Dennis has to push himself away from the door a little to keep his skull from bumping against it again and again. He stops thinking somewhere in the middle of it all and barely realises when the guy comes and only checks in again when he feels a heavy body leaning against his back. He can smell the guy's sweat.

"This was good. Let me return the favour"

He nearly throws up but lets himself be manhandled, anyway. There is a warm hand working his dick and he checks out again and lets his body take him to the finish line. He finishes with a stranger's hand on his dick and Mac's name on his lips.

When he turns around, breathing heavily, he feels tears being gently wiped away from his face. Oh.

"You okay?" There is an honest concern in lumberjack’s voice, bless him.

Dennis quickly pushes away his hands and mumbles something that resembles a yes, only the word gets stuck in his throat and maybe he isn't okay after all but who cares. He asks "bathroom?" and bolts for it. He avoids the mirror above the sink at all costs, just splashes his face with water and cleans himself up as good as he can and ignores the shivers going through him like a thousand volts. When he leaves the bathroom, the guy is sitting on his couch, sipping on a beer. He asks if Dennis wants him to call him "a cab or something" but Dennis just shakes his head no, and picks up his jacket off the floor. His hand is on the door handle, he stops for a second, trying to think of things to say but his mind draws a blank.

From the couch, he hears the guy's voice.

"See you around, I guess," and that's the push Dennis needs to open the door and get the hell out of the apartment, the building and the situation. Unfortunately, this means he is back in his body and mind again as soon as he steps out into the night.

He shivers but he knows it's not from the cold. The wind is blowing a mild breeze right into his face. A face that's itching and doesn't feel like his own anymore. He reaches into his pocket, fumbles out a cigarette with shaking fingers and lights it after three tries. He inhales deeply, holds it in and then releases the smoke into the night sky. As he watches it evaporate, he feels like he is watching part of his soul leave his body to go somewhere more quiet and peaceful and he wishes he could follow it to that mysterious place. He pushes his other hand deep into his pocket and starts walking to wherever the fucking next bus stop is.


	5. Chapter 5

“Why don’t we talk about your fear of intimacy, today?”

“Simple. Because I don’t have it. That,” he makes a waving hand gesture, “I sleep around plenty.”

“What about nonsexual intimacy? Hugs, for example?”

“I’m not a child”

“Do you think only kids need to be hugged? Were you hugged a lot as a child?”

Dennis tries but fails miserably to suppress a snort. The thought of being hugged plenty by either Frank or his mother is just too ridiculous.

“Is that something that amuses you? A child being hugged regularly?”

Dennis shifts uncomfortably in his seat and then curses himself, remembering that shifting is a sign of uneasiness. He straightens his spine and suddenly forgets what to do with his hands. He wishes for something to hold on to.

“Dennis?”

“No, I guess that’s normal. Parents hugging their kids.”

“Do you hug your kid?”

More shifting.

“Not as often as I should, probably.”

“And how much would that be, in your opinion?”

Sweat running down his shirt. It tickles.

“I don’t know. All the time?”

“Would you say that you lack a healthy parameter of what’s ‘a normal amount of hugging’?”

“What?”

“Do hugs come easy to you? Receiving as well as giving them.”

One of his hands shoots up to scratch his ear. He knows it’s one of his nervous tells but hopes his therapist doesn’t know it yet.

“No, they don’t,” he answers and is surprised by his own honesty. He is getting tired of dancing around everything if he is being genuine.

The therapist scribbles something down and Dennis rolls his eyes.

“How does it make you feel when I take notes?”

It makes him feel like defeat, like he is failing a game.

“Is it important to you how people perceive you?”

“Isn’t it to everybody to some extent?”

“To some extent, yes. On a scale of 1 to 10….”

He drifts off, lets his mind wander, steer away the train of thought that was inevitably rushing towards topics he likes to keep buried deep down. He doesn’t feel like sharing his secrets today. Right here in this office, he feels utterly naked and the secrets keep him clothed and warm.

It takes him a while to allow his mind to settle back into his body. When he does, he finds his therapist looking at him calmly. He doesn’t know how much time has passed but somehow, he is convinced that his therapist has already written down a whole book about him. Does zoning out say more about him than had he just said 10? Probably.

“I’ve got some homework for you, Dennis,” he immediately knows what’s coming, “and I want you to follow through with it or at least be honest about the results next week, alright? If I’m happy with what you present to me, I’ll let you choose the topic next week,” his therapist smiles at him encouragingly.

Mh, a reward system. Unfortunately, he has to admit that it works. At least, it has him intrigued enough. He nods in agreement and listens when his therapist tells him to try and work more nonsexual intimacy into his daily life and journal about it.

\----

He tries. By God, he tries. Even though it makes him feel like a robot missing a code. He actually does as told and journals. At the end of the first day, he writes

_ Tried incorporating touches into daily interactions _

And continues to elaborate a whole page’s worth. Then he remembers: Flirting doesn’t count, “fuck.”

By day three, he feels like he is one human interaction away from going insane. He writes it down in his diary.

On Day 4, he tries really hard to remember what a “neutral touch” is. Every shoulder pat feels either too long or too brief. He gets weird looks and cringes so much that he is certain he is going to implode.

Days 5 and 6 are a hazy blur of binge drinking, pill popping and anonymous sex. Out of spite for himself and his own actions, he writes down

_ lots of touches from various men - definitely not the non-sexual kind _

It’s meant to come off as boasting (although he isn’t sure who exactly he is trying to impress: himself or his therapist) but he knows it actually sounds bitter and pathetic.

When the week comes full circle, he finds himself sitting in his therapist’s office again, full of regret and shame and feelings of failure and all the other fun things.

He is told to “try harder” and he is ready to get up and leave but instead he just glares as hard as he can.

“I tried. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

His therapist smiles.

“Half-assing things won’t help you in the long run. I’m here to teach you commitment.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Did I earn my reward?”

“Hm, I don’t know. I let you decide”

He wants to scream. But he is here to learn how to commit, apparently. He lets several minutes pass.

“Dennis? You need to make a decision.”

Suddenly, he finds it impossible to make a decision, feels like he has never had to make one before in his life. How does one decide on anything?

“I guess I should have tried harder…”

“Is that a No?”

“Yes.” He clenches his teeth and stares down at his hands.

“How does that make you feel?”

He wants to cry, he is so tired of being forced to look inward where it’s so dark and hard to see.

“...like a failure…” It’s barely audible. “It seems like a simple enough task, you know. Why couldn’t I do it?”

His therapist nods approvingly and sends him home and tells him his homework until next week is figuring out exactly this.


	6. Chapter 6

He has calories memorised but not the play dates of his son.

His shirts become loose on him as do his jeans and he thinks: Good. At least one thing he's got going for him.

"Dennis, I'd like to talk about your eating disorder today"

"My what?"

"You are here to learn how to exist in the moment"

"I thought I was here to learn commitment," Dennis huffs.

"Well, those two are connected. If it helps, we can call it 'commit to the moment'"

It doesn't, so Dennis stays quiet.

"I'm under the impression that staying in a moment that comes close to evoking an unwelcomed emotion in you is something that you try to escape rather than confront. Similar to an animal confronted with danger, it either chooses fight or flight."

"Are you comparing me to an animal?"

"I'm explaining behaviourisms to you. Can I continue without interruption, please?"

Dennis rolls his eyes and looks out the window.

"I find that you are willing to go to great lengths to avoid feelings and therefore have developed quite an impressive repertoire of coping mechanisms that provide you with the supposedly needed escapism. Take your eating disorder, for example-"

Dennis is about to interrupt again but his therapist holds up a finger and so he folds his arms, staying quiet.

"Every eating disorder is different, of course. Hunger can be a proxy for a lot of emotions. It can remind you that you are a living being, that you have a body that needs being taking care of, care being a key factor. This can evoke feelings of uneasiness if you're feeling unworthy of such care and find it hard to provide for yourself or anyone else. Hunger might lead to a chain of thought that reminds you that you are not above the law of nature, that you are a human being that gets older and won't stay 20 forever. Am I touching on something here?"

Dennis says nothing. He couldn't if he wanted to because of the big fat lump in his throat.

"By ignoring your natural hunger, you are suppressing your emotional hunger. You escape your physical and emotional needs by trying to starve them away. You also told me in our first session that occasionally, you binge. Binging is a form of escapism as is starving. But instead, you are acknowledging a void inside of yourself and try to fill it. But the void is often rather an emotional one that cannot be filled with food.

Hugging, for example, falls into almost the same category, as it is something you usually do without an agenda. It's an exchange of care, no strings attached. You let other people acknowledge that you and your body exist and therefore you as a person exist and therefore have emotional as well as physical needs."

The words waver in the air heavily. Dennis can't talk because he's pretty sure if he tries to, he's gonna burst into tears.

The therapist takes his silence as agreement or at least neutral understanding and writes something down.

"Our time is up for today but I want you to try and keep an eye on your behaviour. Use your journal and try to see whenever you are using any of your many coping mechanisms."

Dennis steps outside the office and lights a cigarette. He makes a mental note to write it down in his journal under 'bad coping mechanism'.


	7. Interlude #2

He wakes up, tangled in limbs that are definitely not his own. Ugh. But it is his own bed, so that's good. He checks himself for injuries but can't find any apart from the innocent soreness all over his body. He rolls over onto his back and drifts off again.

A while later, he is woken up by a hand tenderly moving around his belly and a mouth trying to kiss him. When he isn't responsive, a male voice says "relax" and the mouth grins against the corner of his lips and so he does because it feels good and because he is only half awake and not thinking.

"Hm, you were a lot more demanding last night," the voice says.

"Last night?" He keeps his eyes closed, slowly processing, slowly waking up.

The guy snorts, "yeah, man. Do you not remember anything? Man, you are seriously fucked up. Do you take medication for that?"

Dennis rubs his face, desperately grabbing at the straws and trying to piece his memory back together.

The guy lying next to him (hand still on his belly and again: it just feels nice) takes pity on him.

"You called me if I wanted to come over"

"I? Called...you?"

"Yes, shithead. Jesus… well, I hope it was as much fun for you as it was for me last night. You certainly gave good head," he gets up and walks towards the bathroom.

"...GAVE?" Dennis yells after him a second too late.


	8. Chapter 8

He kind of loses track of time. Everything blurs together. Sleep is nothing but checking out for a few hours before waking up in his own head again, still exhausted. Amazingly, he still manages to follow through with his therapy appointments, somehow (most of them, anyway). Even more amazingly, he fails to mention any of the above...

Some time must have passed since he’s come in and sat down in the chair as usual but his therapist hasn't said anything for 10 minutes which, in fact, is not usual. The silence is starting to feel suffocating and Dennis wonders if he is supposed to say something or if he has missed a question. That's when his therapist goes, "Dennis…" and he just knows it's not a good sign and he curls up in on himself a little to prepare for the inevitable. He looks up and tries to keep eye contact. God, has it always been this hard?

"You've been coming in here for some time now. And while I do see progress in some areas, there are still issues that are important and we don't seem to quite tackle them. Now, I'm not putting blame on anything or anyone but this is just how it is. Do you agree with me?"

"I guess?"

"I need a straight answer, please."

He bites his lower lip. Agreeing would mean admitting defeat to some degree. A little voice in his brain is telling him to just fucking say yes. He ponders for a minute. But eventually, he feels like "fuck it" and nods and says yes, yes he is still not dealing like a functioning person although, yes, he has gained some self-perspective.

"Okay, thank you. That's good. Admitting is not a failure, Dennis, although I know you might beg to differ. As your therapist, I only ever have your best interest at heart. So, what I am about to suggest has nothing to do with me not wanting to see you anymore."

Every alarm bell in his body goes off. He wants to bail. These things are meant to comfort him and rationally, he knows that. But they fail to reach his heart, his brain, his mind, his soul. He goes through the motions anyway and smiles and thinks, one of these days, he will step in front of a speeding car on purpose.

He doesn't really want to stay and hear whatever comes next, his abandonment issues blowing right up in his face. He needs a cigarette (and a drink) like, right now. He says nothing.

His therapist just looks at him and takes his silence as a sign to go on.

"I would like you to agree to an inpatient short-term stay at a mental institution for a stabilisation program. I think it would benefit you to get away from your everyday life for a while and focus on yourself. While I do see that you're putting in work, although not always a hundred percent, I still think that you struggle a lot with your circumstances and tend to lose perspective and revert to the coping mechanisms we are trying to overwrite. But it's hard to do that while simultaneously and constantly being confronted with everything you are struggling with, you understand?"

Dennis nods automatically.

"Okay. I already talked to one of the houses nearby and they have a bed available. It would only need one call from me. But they need an answer today. It would only be for 21 days. After that, there would be an evaluation. But you are not sectioned, you would be free to leave anytime, of course. You would also be free to disagree to a continuation of your stay."

There is a ringing in Dennis’ ears that he can't shut out. He doesn't really know how to deal with this meal that’s put in front of him and naturally, he flounders.

"Now, I don't expect you to make a decision straight away. If you need to to think about it, that's fine. But I will need you to call me today either way. Whether or not you agree. Dennis, this is important. I truly think it would benefit you. And of course we can continue our sessions after your stay. I need you to understand that I am not dropping you as a patient. Can you tell me that?"

Dennis cries. He doesn't mean to but he can't hold it back. It's too much for his brain to process. So he says the first thing that comes to his mind.

"Yes."

There is a moment of silence.

"Yes, you understand or yes, you agree to a stay?"

"Both."

His therapist smiles and it's the most genuine thing he's seen all day (all week- hell, all month, probably).

"Dennis, this is really good. I'm really proud of you."

His heart does a funny flutter and he files the sensation under "process later". He just nods again. With all of his fingernails gone and nothing left to chew on, he grabs the pillow near him and hugs it tight.

"This is really good news. I will call them after our session and text you the details. But they will expect you by Monday next week. I told them that you have a child and will need a few days to prepare your absence. But from what I know, I'm sure the mother of your child will support this decision."

The rest of the session is a blur to Dennis. He signs some papers that he doesn't read and nods and sort of smiles and waves as he leaves the room. His head is spinning.

And so, he finds himself drunk on tequila two nights before the beginning of his stay in the loony bin. He mindlessly switches through the apps on his phone, not having the mental capacity to focus on anything for more than 2 minutes.

He takes another big sip and goes through his text messages. They are all several weeks old (except the ones from Mandy and his therapist).

He scrolls all the way down to the oldest ones. He doesn't have many saved contacts, so it doesn't take long until his thumb hovers over Mac's name. He empties his glass and briefly checks the bottle - still enough left to get his courage up for this and, if executed properly, just enough to make him pass out immediately afterwards.

Dennis gets up and throws some more ice into his glass.

He takes his phone and glass and goes to sit by the window. His drunk fingers fumble with the pack of cigarettes that lies on the sill. When the cigarette is lit and secured between his lips, he opens the window.

He inhales deeply and unlocks his phone to stare at Mac's lit up name on the screen. The letters start to blur a little, but his “plan” requires some focussing. He puts the glass to his lips and downs the first half. He runs mainly on Tequila and instinct, now. He blows some smoke into the crispy midnight air.

_ Hey man _

He stares at his own message. Stupid... Now what?

_ Guess it's been a while _

_ Not sure what to tell you, man. You probably don't wanna hear any of it anyway. You probably have moved on and shit… _

_ I haven't and _

_ It's become a bit of a problem, I guess _

_ This is weird _

_ Why is this so awkward _

_ I need to stop hitting send haha _

_ The reason I'm texting you is _

_ I miss you _

_ I'll be staying at this... mental hospital... for a while _

_ So in case any of you want to contact me _

_ (You probably don't) _

_ Here is the number _

_ (It's dennis btw haha) _

15 single messages, jesus fuck… Dennis groans. No diagnosis in the world could make his brain stop circling back to Mac. Mac, Mac, Mac. Mac IS his diagnosis. A chronic case of Mac. He flicks the cigarette butt out the window, switches off his phone and drinks the rest of the tequila straight from the bottle.

Here he is: Same old Dennis Reynolds, only in North fucking Dakota.

**Author's Note:**

> phew... anyway... if you want to shout at me, you can find me on tumblr & twitter under the same name


End file.
